mahiwaga

Another day off pissed away. Not to mention a couple hundred flushed down a couple dollar slot machines.

I don’t know what possessed me at 6:30 p.m. (an hour and a half before my bedtime) to take $160, drive off into the mountains to a Native American reservation, and essentially burn it in a masochistic act of futility.

No use crying over spilt milk, I suppose.

But it seems that me and my sister have the same problem. Both of us seem to be incontinent when it comes to money. We somehow always end up spending more than we have, and I am almost certain that—unless I can get someone else to manage my funds—no matter how much money I make, I will always be broke.

Talk about Sisyphus rolling the stone up the hill.

Despite my aspirations towards monkhood (I’ve got the celibacy thing down cold), I can’t seem to get around the whole vow of poverty thing. It’s not like I own expensive things, necessarily, it’s just that I really have no idea where my money goes. I mean, it isn’t that I’m completely incompetent, it’s just that thinking about every penny starts making me depressed, which has the somewhat amusing side effect of making me spend even more money. (I seem to have acquired the habit of self-medicating with consumerism.) I’ve decided that I am much happier not thinking about money, and if that means that I am always essentially broke, I guess that’s the way it’ll have to be. (Again, unless I can find someone to manage my funds. Bram has already volunteered his fiduciary services. Since he lives on the other side of the continent, this doesn’t lend well to the kind of micromanagement that I need help with. He half-jokingly told me to give him a call once I have my first million. Which, according to my calculations, will happen, like, never.)

Anyway, you can’t buy happiness. Although it seems that you can rent it for a while, so to speak.

I am also meditating upon red-shifting galaxies again. It is interesting to find that pretty much all of the women I have ever been seriously interested in are now in stable relationships, and a few are in fact married. I just learned that one of my friends is now engaged. (I had once upon a time told her how I felt, and I got the “let’s just be friends” talk.)

It is interesting the way my love life has gone (or more accurately, not gone.) 1) I have been cheated on 2) I told someone how I felt about her and we basically came to the tacit agreement that it would be best to ignore it. It was almost never alluded to, and it was certainly never discussed again. 3) I have been pre-emptively told that it would be preferrable that my feelings not be known because it would probably unnecessarily degrade the friendship (This discussion did not occur in direct reference to me, just in a generalized, impersonal form) 4) I have simply completely failed to express my feelings and ended up surrendering to a better man 5) I have actually once had to play out the “it’s not you, it’s me” scenario—yes, remarkable as it seems, I had to once convince someone that a relationship with me would be a bad idea 6) I have encountered the “you’re like a brother to me” scenario.

That pretty much sums up the past ten(!) years, really. It is interesting to note that my horoscope today stated:

An idea from the past hangs in your mind like an abandoned tire resting in a roadside ditch. Mental cleanup includes consciously deciding on one course of action and letting go of the other possibilities.

I feel that this is directly applicable to my stagnant situation.

It makes me wonder. I think Ben would contend that deciding explicitly to take the path less traveled is simply a cop-out. Or maybe he wouldn’t think that. Maybe I’m just projecting.

But, yeah. Maybe it’s true. I’ve said once before that I think I make a pretty decent friend, but I would probably make a pretty shitty boyfriend.

Oh well. You gotta play the cards that you’re dealt. (Please remind me never to go gambling ever again.)